Cold sands
by ClosetCynicist
Summary: Two trainers cross paths in the most unlikely of ways. Will they be able to make it across a grueling Sinnoh that's out to get them? Will they be able to keep it together in the fight to be Champion? Nate and Lucas make the journey across the cold country. LAte ships ;) Please read the A/N first :)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Right. Hi everyone (I'm not expecting too many views for this one given its weird premise). So this story doesn't make a lot of sense, and I feel I should explain it a little before anyone gets too confused. Right, the most screamed about question right now would probably be "Why is the main pairing NatexLucas?" So yes. I get it. They've never met, they aren't in the same game and they don't meet in any other form of media to the point that this is likely the only fic with this pairing in the world. The main reason I wanted to write it is because I read a lot of Greyskyshipping (NatexHugh) and a lot of Clingyshipping (LucasxBarry). So I found that in most of these fics the characterization for both Nate and Lucas stayed pretty much the same across all those different writers, and I thought hey they'd actually be perfect for each other.** **Also they have the cutest character models** **. And voila, this fic was born :)**

 **If you enjoy it please review it and if you don't please review it as well I'm trying to get better just like everyone else and it would really help if viewers could give tips on how to improve my writing. Anyways, enjoy!**

First times are always the worst. You get wasted after your first drink, beat up after your first fight, and dumped after your first kiss.

First time travelling. Now _that's_ a real recipe for disaster. No one should ever be allowed to fly overseas alone for the first time. At all. For the rest of eternity. So what if no one ever flies again and the air travel industry crashes and burns. Screw them.

The journey from Unova to Sinnoh was a lot tougher than the airline website made it out to be. Their promises of a "journey spent in the lap of luxury" apparently missed out the part about spending 14 hours in a hard and scratchy airplane seat, only to find that your transfer from Kalos International to Goldenrod airport had been cancelled due to "unforeseen circumstances".

Of course, since this was a budget carrier, they couldn't actually afford to give their passengers a complimentary stay at a hotel, so they'd just have to settle for a night in the departure hall with all the other scrubs who were too poor to afford an actual airline.

At least I got a free sleeping bag right?

Swamped in garish orange polyester, sandwiched between some morbidly obese guy who smelled of cheese sticks and a conveniently placed garbage bin, I could only curse myself for naively thinking that _heading to Sinnoh for some training would be a_ great _idea!_ Blasting all the Patrat and Lillipup in Route 1 would have been easier than booking a fucking commercial flight. Why'd the system have to be so complicated anyways? Was it really necessary to have to queue _five_ times in a single airport? If only I hadn't lost to that conceited blond supermodel...

After getting completely thrashed by Elesa at Nimbasa Gym (her Zebstrika just pummeled Dewott, and my little Vullaby couldn't really do much after that), I realised that before I could even hope to challenge the pokemon league and its asshat of a champion, I'd need more than just a little more training. The gyms in Sinnoh had seemed like a reasonable place to start at the time, since I'd heard that they rarely saw any Unova region pokemon there anyway. It took all of 3 minutes standing outside that awful fashion show of a gym for me to make up my mind then. It is rapidly becoming apparent to me impulsive decision making is not ideal when making choices about making a very long trip to a very foreign land with a stark lack of accompaniment.

I sent a text message to mom informing her about my decision to train overseas, and she completely ignored my preferred mode of communication by responding with an awful 15 minute long-credit-draining call. She squealed at the excitement of another one of her children heading on the path towards becoming a great trainer, and expressed how mightily impressed she was by "how much her little baby had grown", "how much she missed both her children and wished they'd come back sooner". I hastily ended the call then, before she came up with some inexcusable reason for me to visit Aspertia City just to get smothered in sloppy kisses and overly sentimental hugs. It was really just a realisation of her dreams for her second son to be more like her hyper-successful first. She never was good at hiding that I was always second favourite.

I mean, for such a clingy lady, she seemed awfully unconcerned that her not-even-legal son would be travelling halfway around the world on his own, or that due to his shitty personality, he probably wouldn't even think to call back on the weekends or something.

Not that it would really hurt if he did run into trouble of course. "It's a great experience for you!" She would say. _And one less burden for me._

I then contemplated telling Hil about where I'd be going, hoping that his brotherly instincts might accidentally kick in and he wouldn't be quite as much of a useless shit of a sibling. Even if he was Champion, it wasn't _necessary_ for him to fuck around all the time and leave me alone with mom. But I texted him anyways, because according to the rest of the world, brothers are supposed to care for each other.

He replied with "K".

So I blocked him. Fuck that guy.

The cash that Hil left in my account from his exploits as Champ was used to pay for a first-class ticket on a straight flight from Castelia to Goldenrod. Even though it was technically my money that was being used here, it still gave me a small sense of satisfaction to see several zeros wiped off my phone's screen after the transaction was processed. I mean, Hil had earned that cash after all. I was just putting his wasted efforts to better use.

Castelia City Airport was a large, whitewashed complex of modernism and hi-tech gadgetry, specifically designed, in my opinion, to provide as vague and lousy directions as possible. They really took the minimalism to a whole new level. After encountering only _three_ signs on my half hour search for the departure hall, by some miracle, I ended up in front of the massive board which listed all the flights departing in the next 3 hours.

20 minutes of staring at the flashing numbers trying to catch a glimpse of "PK1629" amongst the hundreds of other flights scrolling across the LED screen yielded little results. In all honesty, though, the list could have a _little_ easier to read. I mean really, a hundred numbers changing every ten seconds? Reading ancient hieroglyphs would have been easier..

What _really_ was sad though, is that only after asking desperately around the airport for any kind of help, did I actually bother to check the website that I had booked my flight on. Alas, my poor young gentleman of a self had missed his flight, because in his astounding brilliance, he astutely forgot that the prefix "am" is in fact indicative of a period of time in the MORNING.

Arriving 12 hours late for a _midnight_ flight really left little room for hoping that the gates would still be open. In my defense, no other mode of transport that I'd ever taken ran at midnight, so it seemed perfectly reasonable at the time to assume that 12.10 was just a little past noon.

I got pretty flustered then, not in the least because I had just spent a five digit sum on a seat that I wasn't even sitting in, and desperately tried to get a refund for my ticket. After queuing again at the airline's counter, I was politely informed by the attendant that there existed a policy where first-class tickets could not be refunded in the case of a missed flight. I told her that there was nothing telling me during my purchase that the ticket was nonrefundable, but she deftly brought out a thick stack densely worded documents and laid it on the countertop for me to read. "These are a copy of the terms and conditions which were shown to you before your purchase was made sir. It states right here that first and business class tickets are non-refundable," she indicated, pointing at a single line trapped between the ocean of words covering the page. I pointed out that no one _actually_ reads terms and conditions, to which she replied, "then maybe you should."

Bitch.

Frantically searching for a way to get back what was over half the cash available to me, I took turns alternating between begging and crying in the hopes that she would take pity on the sad little 17 year old who had just fucked up big time. Yet her steely expression never wavered, staunchly refusing to allow any sort of deviation from her Holy Commandments, the sacred Terms and Conditions.

Understandably, I was fairly pissed at her then, and told her where she could put her fucking terms, which was probably when she began threatening to call security. The queue behind me had been growing increasingly impatient and more than a little annoyed at the asshole who was holding up the line while abusing staff, and I could hear a few pissed of mutters from a short distance behind. One of them probably notified airport security, because as my rant against the unfairness of legal clauses died down, a rather large and imposing guard appeared to be making his way through the crowd of annoyed travelers that had accumulated at queue number 17.

That was my cue to accept fate and leave before I got arrested for verbal abuse in public.

I spent a good 15 minutes making sure that no burly giant of a man was tailing me, and, once I was sure of my safety, took a seat at the airport lounge while contemplating my absolute failure of an existence.

I couldn't go back to Aspertia or ask Hil for help. If he found out that I couldn't even book my own flight, I would never hear the end of it. It was enough that he already one-upped me in becoming champion first, I didn't need him to be better at fucking travelling too.

The only logical solution was to quietly wait in line for a small budget carrier, and hopefully continue my journey to Sinnoh without further delay. So I headed over to the budget terminal (yes, they had a whole other terminal just for them), and quietly skulked around for a new carrier to bring me on my way.

I spotted a single flight to Kalos International scrolling lazily across the screen above the desk for Swanna Airways, figuring that if I could reach the transport hub of the world, then getting to Sinnoh after would be much easier. The clerk (wo)manning the counter below gazed disinterestedly at the monitor in front of her, scrolling through something that likely had nothing at all to do with her job. She resembled a Slakoth that had been forced to watch reruns of 'Girls over Sunflora' for her whole life, chewing a piece of gum as if it wasn't obvious enough that she hated her job.

"Excuse me, I'm trying to get to the Sinnoh region."

Bubblegum stared at me expectantly. A light pink sheet was stretched across her lips.

"Um, can you, uh, help me get there?"

She sucked the gum back in, and restarted the chewing process. "We don't have flights to Sinnoh." *pop*

Well she's nice.

"Oh. Then, uh, can you tell me how to get there?"

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes before typing a couple of words into her computer. What fantastic service!

"You can take this flight to KIA and then transfer to Goldenrod after. There's some ferries there, I'm sure. Y'can probably get on one there or something. Anything else?" The last two words came out rather strained, more a signal for me to shut up than an offer of help. I shook my head and muttered a vaguely polite "thanks" while waiting for the transaction to process.

"Hold your phone over the scanner there," she indicated at the light blue plate mounted on a desk stand. As the transaction processed, this time it hurt when a noticeable bite out of the remaining cash I had slipped away. So much for trainers being rich.

My flight to Kalos International would be 14 hours, and from there I could take a transfer all the way to Goldenrod, where hopefully, booking the ferry for my journey to Canalave City would be significantly less dramatic. Glancing at my watch, I was relieved to find that 2 hours of free time waited between me and departure, thinking it high time to grab a snack to calm down after the stress of my plane-booking adventures.

Yet halfway through enjoying an ice-cool casteliacone, the P.A. system sounded throughout the departure hall with, "LAST CALL FOR NATE BLACK!"

The announcement repeated itself again, this time with the added info that the boarding gates would be closed in 15 minutes. 15 minutes sounded reasonable enough for me to get to the boarding gates, but considering my luck with air travel so far, I wasn't about to take any risks. Flinging the rest of my frosted dessert into the trash, I tore down the ridiculously long corridor towards my flight hall, unwilling to deal with horror of trying to book another fucking flight to the same place on the same day.

And hence my stay in the lap of luxury that is KIA begins. Stuck uncomfortably in a stuffy airport hall, with a worryingly dismal amount of cash and a mood that could blacken a Sunflora's smile. The lard ass laying beside me finally fell asleep as well, and started snoring these awful wet nasal sounds, like all the snot had built up inside his meaty nostrils so that it could deliberately annoy me on one of my top five shittiest days. I seriously considered asking Dewott to freeze his face off, but going to jail would sort of ruin my chances of putting Hil's smart ass in its rightful place, so I resorted to pressing my face against the cool plastic of the trash bin, and stuffing the sleeping bag case into a pair of makeshift earmuffs.

It's going to be a long night.

 **Also its in first person POV so this might be a little weird... Lucas is coming up next 0.0**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi everyone! Today we're finally meeting Lucas, and boy is he in for a surprise ;) Reviews always appreciated XD**

 **NATE**

The moment I step of the ferry at Canalave port, a blast of freezing air knocks all the warmth out of my face. Whilst Unova was still blistering in the midsummer heat, the air here didn't get any warmer than a mild 18 degrees this far north. A shiver runs down my spine, the pale evening light doing little to warm my body. The icy temperature seeps easily through the thin fabric of my shorts and t-shirt, and I can feel blood rushing to the surface of my face. They had warned me in the tourist brochure things that Mt. Coronet had some sort of cooling effect on the whole region, but I'm a professional at not heeding the sound advice of anyone. Why give up and actually do something smart for a change?

I shuffled through the alighting crowd gathered at the terminal, trying to get to a quiet bus stop or somewhere to get to the hotel (motel). Most of the passengers had tour guides holding up placards and competing to see who can scream named loudest, but my lack of any sort of impressive financial capabilities meant that my trudge out of the customs area was a lonely one.

The crowd thinned as I approached the public bus stop. Bus stops in Unova are actually stands, with proper roofs and a board to tell you which services stop there. This one was a single sign with what looks to be an amputated cow painted in white on a sun-faded blue background. . Even the road in front was just cracked enough to let you know that it's old as hell, but not in such bad condition that it would need to be immediately replaced.

There is also no bench.

I am forced to stand at an empty bus stop.

I am already beginning to hate this place.

By the time the bus arrives, several others have joined me at the pathetic excuse for a stop, likely the other stragglers who had too little money to afford any of the five star beachside resorts. They all carry gigantic backpacks stuffed full of camping equipment (and probably thermal wear) that they have to lug up the steps into the coach. They even bother to use up the overhead compartments, stuffing their oversized canvas monstrosities precariously above their seats. I just plop my trainer pack onto the aisle way and lie across all five back seats. A backpacker struggling to lift her oversized sack wrinkles her nose at me. Even in a fucking empty bus, and people still get picky about taking up more than one seat.

The ride to Jubilife lasts long enough that the city lights are already bathing everything in their harsh brightness when I arrive, starkly contrasting to the warm country tones that Sinnoh had been filled with so far. The metropolis begins almost instantly, with none of the horrendous urban sprawl that afflicts Unova's megacities, a crisp line between grey concrete and lush forest just beyond the city limits, and our bus instantly enters a wide avenue surrounded by high-tech offices and shopping malls. The palm trees lining the road are too tall, artificial in the very sense of the word, planted precise distances apart. Each sign looks perfect in its placement, glaring enough to grab your attention, but directing your gaze to all its neighbours as well. The world beyond my window is perfectly planned, a masterful execution of straight edges and obsessive clinicality.

It feels fake, like something out of an architect's wet dream. Jubilife is the tourist centre of the region, built purposefully to maintain the highest standards of perfection. The locals had protested for months against its "destruction of the region's rustic charm" in a famous saga four years back. However, the controversy it brought to the normally peaceful region attracted enough attention (and tourist cash) to pretty much guarantee the project's completion.

Sucks to be them.

We roll up to a stop situated under the gaze of the giant mega-complex of hotels that would soon be my temporary home, and a few other touristy types that got on along the way spilled out along with me. A single step off the bus is all it takes for me to be hit with a waft of city air, stale and punctuated by the slight hint of pollution. _Just like home_.

A giant billboard announces it as "The Palm Heart" (where home is), dwarfing the single lonely palm tree growing in its neon luminescence. The steel and concrete megastructure beckons with giant beam lights and pounding music, a perpetual party of tourist excess and a complete lack of fucks given to noise pollution.

Even approaching the entrance brings about a headache of sights and sounds. The swivel doors leading into the lobby suck me through a brief world of pink fluorescence, before spitting me out into the eerily quiet lobby on the other side. A little vulpix that entered behind me chases the door in circle, mewling at the impressive trap it found itself in. I can tell immediately that this isn't _my_ lobby - the impressive noise cancellation and lavish decor is far too high class for what I paid - and I head to one of the side corridors leading deeper into the warrens of the building.

 _Dancing Flamingo... Where to find a hotel that might also be a strip club..._

An information kiosk gives me directions towards the seedier side of the Palm Heart, and I traverse the ever thinner and shadier corridors, until I am thrust into a new, considerably smaller lobby, the faint sound of club music and dubstep swelling in the background. The lobby seemed to be part of the hotel itself, as a bar occupied the left side of the room, a single man perched with a glass of beer, and the unlit sign with the words "Dancing Flam-co-" written in broke neon tubes occupied the entire opposing wall. At the far end of the little room, an unmanned reception desk sagged under the weight of a cracked poke transfer station, looking just as dismal as the dreary surroundings.

A young woman pops out from behind the door marked "staff only" once I ring the counter bell. Her outfit consisted much more of skin than any sort of decent clothing, miniskirt riding up just a tiny bit as she plops down on the creak, offering me a glimpse of quite a bit more thigh than I really wanted.

"I booked a room here?" It's more a question than a statement. My confidence in anything travel related has already been fried.

"Take number 3." She hands me a single key with the room number scribbled in permanent marker on the base, and waves me away like she had more important things to do.

"Uh, thanks," I reply. She starts to file her nails. I take that as my cue to leave.

The rooms are in a cramped corridor at the end of the lobby, with a single creaky door separating it from the main entranceway. As I move past the other rooms, faint sounds of what could either be interpreted as passionate sex or a gruesome murder emanate from within. I quickly head to the flimsy looking oak door marke "3", and fumble with the keys in an effort to vacate myself from the weird strip club corridor.

My room's interior is tiny, albeit decorated in remarkably better fashion than the rest of the... hotel(?). The walls are a warm but faded velvet red, and a large window occupies most of the far wall. Next to the small entryway is a plastic screen leading to the ensuite, and a (comparatively) huge king size occupies nearly all the space in the room, with a single nightstand hogging what little remainder was left.

Too exhausted to care about showering or changing, I plop myself onto the surprisingly comfortable bed, a welcome relief from the stress of travel, and my myriad of fuck-ups. With the remainder of my sadly depleted reserves, I release Dewott from his ball and I snuggle up completely dressed, too exhausted to do anything more than drop off...

 **LUCAS**

The first thought that came to my mind when I clambered through the window of some sleeping person's room was, "what kind of teenage guy books a room at this place?"

 _A poor one._

Anyone who chose the Dancing Flamingo either couldn't afford a proper place to stay, or wanted some cheap company for the night... I couldn't quite make out the face half-covered in a pillow, but at least there was only a single body under the sheets.

 _Remember when you found that lady riding on that man's-_

A shudder runs down my spine.

Most of the rooms at this place were vacated on weekdays, and finding that my usual Jubilife stop was occupied surprised me a little. I'd even stashed a whole load of peanut butter chocolates in the medicine cabinet that the staff never cleaned. It was, after all, basically my own private apartment. So technically, it was the random kid who was trespassing on _my_ property.

 _He'll also probably beat you up if you tell him about your supposed ownership rights._

Either way, the kid really seemed out for the count, judging by the obnoxiously loud snores he seemed to emanate from beneath the sheets, and I needed to grab a few more items before I could properly depart for Oreburgh, so I tip-toe past the motionless figure into his/my slightly moldy smelling bathroom. Thankfully he left the million-year-old door wide open or everyone and their Pokemon would have been rudely ejected from their dreams by the sound of a million splinters shattering at once. Truth be told, it wasn't the best maintained place.

I just needed to grab the three potions and antidote inside the cabinet above the sink, stealthily make it out of the toilet and past the sleeping guardian, through the gate into the morning sunlight and down a precarious spruce trunk to the safety of the earth below. Piece of pecha berry cake...

It all immediately went to poop.

Just as I flung a leg over the sill to scramble out of the hotel, a sharp tug on my right foot dragged me promptly back into the darkness of the room. I landed face first onto the dank carpeted floor, my vision swamped by old fake fur and a fine coating of dust. A crushing weight pressed itself into my back, and I could feel a hand pressing my head further down into the plush mess.

"The fuck are you doing in here?" The now very much awake occupant's voice resounded through the cramped hotel room. I try to say something, but the carpet that I was being forced into only let me make a few weak spluttering noises. He pressed what I can only assume to be his knee harder onto my spine, sending a sharp wave of pain shooting down the length of my back.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to enter it wasanaccident-owowoww," I managed to splutter before his knee pressed down with renewed force.

"Why. Are you. In. My. Room." His voice is closer, I can feel his breath just behind my ear, and a dangerous lethality permeates his tone.

I desperately try to think of a way to worm myself out of his lock, but the pain prevents me from forming anything more than barely coherent thoughts.

 _You messed up now, Lucas. Big time._

"I - I can pay you. If you... agh... need any money," I cry weakly, hoping that his meagre surroundings were indicative of an unfortunate financial circumstance. Surprisingly, the oppressive pressure removed itself, and I groaned as I rubbed the sore spot where he had rested his entire weight. Gingerly, I picked myself off the floor, dusting off my vest.

"So about that money..." The icy edge that his voice had while pushing me down was replaced by an easy disinterest. _Hah. If he'll forgive me so easily as to let a stranger in here for some cash, then he's probably more than a little desperate_.

"I have some, to cover the costs of my unfortunate, you know..." I reply calmly, reknotting my scarf snuggly around my neck. "I'm really sorry about the intrusion, you see I normally come here in my free time," I venture, turning to face the room's other resident, "I work part time-"

 _Hey it's_ that _guy._

Sitting at the edge of his bed, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance plastered across his features, is Nate Black. Brother of Unova league champion Hilbert T. Black, reknowned throughout the regions for his sensational rivalry with his sibling, recent runner-up in the Unova junior surfing league, defeated by Leader Elesa at Nimbasa gym earlier this month...

 _And your crush._

Suddenly my calmness from being let off without a hitch shatters into a million flustered pieces. It's _him_. Nate. The one from all those surfing mags stored securely under my bed. The one with the breathtaking smile and the even more stunning frown. And he's here in real life. In front of me. And he hates me.

"OH. Oh my god, i'm sorry, I should introduce myself. Uh, I mean I'm sorry. Wait, no, uh, I'm Lucas, sorry, yeah. I mean Iusuallyusethisroomandsorryforgoinginlikethat-"

"What?" The Unova boy arches an eyebrow at me.

"No no I'm sorry I really am I was using the room and then I wanted the potions but you were using it actually I wasn't it's yours really but I said it was mine and-"

"CALM DOWN for fucks sake I don't give a shit about your life story. Just give me your goddamn money then start talking _._ " His outburst immediately shuts me up, leaving a painfully awkward silence hanging in the air. The irritation in his eyes now grew to full blown pissed-off.

 _Off to a fine start, aren't we?_

"Yeah. Yeah money, I have that. How much do you need?" I wanted to bury myself in the ground in embarrasment. Just moments ago I thought I had lucked out by stumbling into the most broke trainer in the region, but it now felt like he was the one dealing all the cards.

"Five hundred thousand".

Oh.

The urge to fling myself out the window grew considerably after hearing his demand. I fish out my wallet tentatively, prising the it open as slowly as possible. A few notes wilt feebly in the pocket. I count out a wad of 12 thousand. From his perch on the bed, Nate doesn't look impressed at the meagre sum resting on my palm.

"I thought you had money," he says matter-of-factly.

 _I think that's code for 'you are screwed'._

"I-I mean this is quite a lot. You could, uh, buy a couple of full restores with..." My gaze sinks to the suddenly wildly interesting carpet. I never knew that you could actually _stare_ someone into submission, but Nate pulled it off. Perfectly. Just like everything else about him. _It's no time to fanboy, you gay freak. No matter how dreamy those eyes are, he's still going to murder you._

He rises from the bed, hair mussed up in that cute way only ludicrously good-looking guys can make work. He prods my chin up, forcing me to peer directly into the same eyes I had fawned over with the girly teenage magazines stashed under my cupboard (next to the swimming ones). Under any other circumstances, I probably would have exploded with excitement, but the deadly flames that flicker behind his hazel irises crushes any chance of inappropriate fanboying.

"So. What do we do now?"

The sheer menace behind those words chilled me to the core. For a brief, yet seemingly eternal, moment, I was genuinely afraid that I was going to be murdered at 17 in a shitty sex hotel by possibly the hottest guy on earth. Definitely not how I planned to go.

Nate pushed me hard into wall behind, slamming my still sore back painfully into the peeling wallpaper. He loomed over me with all the nonchalance of a Glameow cornering a mouse, left fist balling into what would surely be quick and excruciating end of my all too short youth. I could feel my knees giving out under all the apprehension as he raised his arm, finally ready to put an end to the meddling kid who'd rudely awoken him in the middle of this awful city.

I didn't fight back, or even try to put up a pathetic defense, knowing it would just prolong the struggle. _Take it like man_. Still , I couldn't help but flinch when brought his fist down with rapid finality...

To flick me on the forehead.

 **A/N: Dramatic finger flick cliffhanger wowza. How will Lucas get out of this one? Also there was very little Lucas here but I promise more is coming soon :)**


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